


One Day I'll Sing to You My Dear

by pinstripedJackalope



Series: TGGTVAV Challenge Fics [8]
Category: The Gentleman's Guide to Vice and Virtue Series - Mackenzi Lee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Popstar, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Music, Quarantine, Self-Isolation, Song Lyrics, Violins, a little of both maybe, i haven't decided if they're more pop or rock, i wrote them myself please be proud of me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:40:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23656993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinstripedJackalope/pseuds/pinstripedJackalope
Summary: The band Vice and Virtue is holed up in a hotel during quarantine.  To make things interesting, they turn it into a girls versus boys streaming challenge--whoever gets the most likes on their stream wins.
Relationships: Henry "Monty" Montague/Percy Newton
Series: TGGTVAV Challenge Fics [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1638925
Comments: 6
Kudos: 22
Collections: TGGTVAV AU Challenge Fics





	One Day I'll Sing to You My Dear

**Author's Note:**

  * For [em_gray](https://archiveofourown.org/users/em_gray/gifts), [goldenthunderstorms](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenthunderstorms/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Icarus](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23217913) by [em_gray](https://archiveofourown.org/users/em_gray/pseuds/em_gray). 



> This one took the idea of the media from Em_gray's fic Icarus! Cheers!

12:34 PM

The stream starts with a black screen and three indistinct voices, muffled under the sound of someone adjusting the camera. The voices are a woven tapestry, each one a thread that weaves confidently around the others, familiarity innate. Even as the voices grow sharper, laughter punctuating teasing words, the familiar threads are present.

“—nd there,” says one of the voices, as the adjustment stops. “Perfect.”

A fourth voice, much closer and much clearer than the others, coughs and says, “Lens cap.”

“Ah, crap,” says the first voice. Another slew of noises, and then the blackness lifts away, revealing two hazy figures, one sitting and one standing. A moment more and the picture shifts into focus.

The figure in the center of the frame, slowly pulling back from the camera, is short, honey blond, and smiling a mischievous, dimpled smile as he lounges back on what is clearly a hotel bed. He’s twenty-five years old, clear blue eyes shining. There is a dark honey-colored acoustic guitar beside him, waiting to be picked up and played. 

“Okay… can everybody hear me all right?” he asks. “Give me a go in the chat if the audio is all right.”

There’s a shuffle behind the camera, then a dark hand pops around the edge of the frame giving a thumbs up. “Good to go,” says a deep voice with a thick accent.

The man on the bed smiles wider as behind the bed and slightly to the side a younger kid, just on the cusp of adulthood, creeps up behind the first. He stops just beside a stack of musical equipment, amps and instrument cases and such, a guitar on a strap around his shoulder. The two young men are clearly brothers—they have the same wave to their hair, the same shape to their eyes, the same pale tone to their skin. The younger one peers nervously at the camera as the elder grins away.

“Good, good. So, this is the better half of Vice and Virtue—”

The kid laughs. “Sorry, sis!”

Snickering, the elder smirks toward the camera and says, “Yeah, sorry, sis. Wish you could join us here in the gentleman’s club, but you’re just not quite up to snuff.”

The deep voice sounds again from the side. “Be kind, Monty.”

Monty rolls his eyes dramatically. “Scipio, _they_ were the ones who declared war on _us_. Tell _them_ to be kind.”

Scipio, still offscreen, grumbles a bit. Monty talks over him.

“Anyway! Here’s how this is gonna go. We have two streams up and running, one for the girls and one for the guys. The one with more thumbs up at the end of the day wins bragging rights. You can retweet the link up at our twitter, or send us messages of support with the hashtag _#viceofviceandvirtue_. Now, as for content… we’ll be kicking off our quarantine stream with a classic. As always, it’s me, Monty, on guitar and vocals, my little bro Adrian—wave, Adrian—”

The younger brother waves.

“—on bass, manager Scipio on nagging us all to death, and my best—and only remaining—roadie, Percy, on monitoring the chat. Percy, say hi!”

“Hi,” says the voice closest to the camera. It’s soft, low but pleasant, and Monty all but beams.

“Thank you, Percy. Now on to the good stuff! We’re going acoustic today for your easy listening pleasure, and also to make it fair to the girls—stop shaking your head, Scipio, oh my god—so without further ado here we go! Toxic, by my best babe Britney!”

And with that he sits up straight, pulls his guitar into his lap, and begins to play as Adrian laughs in the background.

***

2:35 PM

“—Okay! We’ve hit hour two of the quarantine stream, and may I just say that you guys _rock_. Unfortunately, however, it can’t all be fun and games. We promised our dear publicist, Helena, that we would dedicate ten minutes of our stream to answering questions from the media.”

“Boo!”

“Thank you, Adrian. You’ve summed up our opinions on the matter quite succinctly.” Monty sighs, flopping backward onto his brother’s side, squishing the younger man to the bed. “Percy! First question!”

Percy, still not in view, clears his throat and types a moment before he reads aloud, “A representative from People Magazine would like to know what kind of message you have for people having a rough time with their mental health in self-isolation.”

Monty props an elbow on his brother, levering himself up and pulling a face. “What kind of message—? Well, obviously I’d tell them all to like our stream so we can beat the girls, that’ll make them feel better.”

“Yeah,” Adrian says. “If we win they have to pay for dinner tonight, so—”

“We’d really appreciate it,” Monty laughs.

Scipio clears his throat.

“—Okay, okay,” Monty says, struggling to force his smile down. “Seriously, the only message I have for the people struggling right now is to pay special attention to the good things. Like, for instance… we had enough funds from our tour so far this year to give all our roadies two months of paid leave. Instead of subjecting them to all the nasty germs on the road we get to make sure they’re home safe and sound. When I get freaked out about all the shi—ahem, uh, _stuff_ —gotta keep the stream PG—that’s going on, I just think about that.”

With that Monty nods, and gestures for Percy to read another question. 

Percy does, the sounds of typing coming through the microphone. “Uhhh… here’s one. From an Alyssa Scott at ELLE, ‘do you agree with Britney Spears’s recent tweet?’”

“The one about redistributing wealth? Heck yeah!” Monty says. “We aren’t the richest of artists, but neither are we starving, and we’re definitely doing our best to lower the burden for everyone else.” He sits up and scoots forward, getting uncomfortably close to the camera. “Listen, celebs. If you’re doing feel-good streams, great, but you’d better also be donating to charity and supporting the people who have it harder than you do.”

“Yeah… we’ve been there,” Adrian says. “Monty, do you mind if I…?”

“Nah, go ahead,” Monty says, leaning out of the way so that the shot of his little brother is clear. 

Adrian gives Monty a quick smile, then lowers his eyes, picking at the bedspread. “Some of you guys who have been following us a long time know that Monty, Feli, and I… we had a shit time at home before we started this whole band thing. If this had happened seven years ago, we would have been trapped at home with our abuser. So, seriously. Donate.”

Monty nods, coming back into frame. “We have a domestic abuse hotline on our website, and they’re being overwhelmed with calls right now and need donations. Anything you can give will definitely help. We’ve already donated what we can, so it’s up to the rest of you now. Aaand that’s all the questions from the media we’re willing to take! How about some questions from fans now, Perce? Read ‘em out to me, I’m gonna answer while I eat some of that spaghetti from yesterday—”

***

4:23 PM

Yawning widely, Monty strums at his guitar. “Okay, hour five is nearly upon us. Three more hours and the winner will be decided. Adrian!”

“What?”

“Drum roll please!”

Adrian nods, starting up a rhythm on the body of his bass.

“Percy!”

“Uh, yeah?”

“Go to the girls’ stream!”

Some taps on the keyboard. “…It’s up.”

“Are we winning?” 

There’s a long pause, Monty leaning forward with a frown on his face. Adrian keeps up the drum roll, creeping closer and closer to Monty. Percy coughs, typing some more, until finally…

“We’re about a thousand likes behind,” Percy says somberly.

“Oh, for god’s sake!” Monty says, falling backward. Scipio’s hands shoot into frame, trying to catch him before he rolls right off the bed, but alas, the poor manager is too late and Monty tumbles directly into the pile of musical equipment behind him. “Ow,” he says, muffled.

Adrian snorts. “Maybe that’ll get us some likes.”

Monty is no longer paying attention, all his focus on the instruments that he’s displaced. He’s holding a smallish black case up, turning it around. “Hey, when did we get a violin?”

“Oh,” Percy says. “That’s, uh… that’s mine.”

Monty looks over sharply, a gleam in his eye. “You play the violin? And you never _told us_? Percy, my dear… you may have just won this competition for us.”

“I… what?”

“Come here!”

There’s a shuffle as Percy stands. “I… do I have to go in front of the camera?”

“Yes, Percy. Just… come _here_ ,” Monty says impatiently, beckoning. 

Percy sighs, and then comes around into frame. He’s tall, darker than the brothers but lighter than Scipio, his curly hair pulled back in a ponytail. He glances uneasily at the camera before Monty pulls him into a huddle, whispering excitedly. Adrian leans around them, smiling, to say, “Thanks for watching, we’ll be back to playing in just a minute, okay guys?”

It’s closer to six minutes, but soon enough Monty is back, pushing everyone back into place as he takes his spot at center-stage, sitting on the bed.

“I’m not sure about this—” Percy says, standing behind him next to Adrian and fiddling with the end of his violin bow. He presses against the unfolded piece of paper on the bed in front of him, nervously flattening it. 

“Just go slow. As slow as you want,” Monty says distractedly, trying to re-pin the little mic on his shirt. “I’ll match you.”

“I—I’m not that great—”

“Percy, it’ll be fine. The worst that can happen is you totally tank it, in which case you get to pay for dinner.” Monty grins. “Okay?”

Percy lets out a huff. “Yeah, fine. It’s just embarrassing myself in front of like two thousand of your fans.”

“That’s the spirit! Now come on, I’ll even count down for you. One… two, and… _three_!”

With a sigh, Percy raises bow to strings, and begins to play.

The song is not like Britney’s Toxic. It’s not a cover, a remix. It’s not one that the people watching the stream will recognize, either. It’s a new song, one that Monty has clearly been working on behind the scenes for a while now. As the notes begin, and Percy’s bowing grows in confidence, Monty’s grin widens and widens.

“This one’s for you, sis,” he says, and then he begins to sing:

_One day I'll sing to you my dear,_

_All the words and all the songs,_

_You_ _’ve ever yearned to hear._

_Your heart_ _’s desire,_

_Left uninspired,_

_Come pouring loud and clear._

_And one day I_ _’ll call to you my sweet,_

_A tale of peace and strength,_

_About the darkness_ _’s defeat._

_One bitter road,_

_That once erodes,_

_To show beauty underneath._

_And one day I_ _’ll say to you my love,_

_Six thousand of my poems,_

_To make you feel beloved._

_Rhymes and verse,_

_But unrehearsed,_

_With the angels from above._

_My dear you are the closest,_

_I ever think I_ _’ll be,_

_My dear, my sweet, my darling,_

_To a thing much greater than just me—_

It is new. It is breathtaking. In the background of the shot Adrian’s jaw drops, as Percy plays the slow sweetness of the melody and Monty pours his heart out into the lyrics, and the music twines together around and around and around the room, and even after Monty trails off, staring, as Percy draws out the last note, the stillness of the room is absolute. 

Then Percy, whose eyes had closed part of the way through, breathes out into the newfound silence. “How badly did I do?” he asks softly, eyes slowly sliding open again.

“I… you…” Monty stutters, at a loss for words. 

Percy winces. “That bad?”

“No! No, not at all, I just—wow, I want to kiss you right now,” Monty laughs, tongue swiping at his lips.

There’s a pause as Percy digests this, and then, in one swift motion, he darts forward and presses his lips to Monty’s. Once, and then twice, and both of them are melting into the motion, and Adrian is laughing and cheering, and Scipio hastily covers the camera lens, going, “Okay, no one wants to see that—”

***

6:47 PM

The stream comes back with two hazy figures, sitting side by side on an indistinct hotel room bed. A moment more and the picture shifts into focus.

Monty, center frame, straightens up, smiling the cheekiest of grins. Percy, beside him, has his face covered by his hands. His ears are flushed bright red. 

“Sorry we had to cut things short,” Monty says cheerfully, “but judging by the sheer number of likes we got we’re going to assume you guys enjoyed what you saw. Thanks to you guys we’ve won the competition with the girls and they will be paying for take-out tonight.”

“Helena is not happy,” Scipio says severely from off-screen.

“Nope! She most certainly is not! Stay tuned on twitter for some more updates! Cheers, everyone!”

Monty waves, nudging Percy in the side as he does. Percy lowers his hands to wave, too, revealing an absolutely lovestruck smile. Adrian leans into frame, waving as well, and Scipio’s hand makes an appearance with another thumbs up.

The stream ends the same way it began so many hours before as the screen goes black. Indistinct voices weave familiarly around each other, this time four rather than three, the tapestry growing longer and more beautiful with each passing second until they go offline with a promise to be back tomorrow. Then the stream goes silent all at once. The chat quiets. The camera turns off. Lives go on, with or without the spotlight, tapestries continuously threaded together, warp and weft crossing back and forth.

_Until next time, dear fans_ , the VICEandVIRTUE twitter tweets. _Until next time_.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [what he needs](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23812798) by [goldenthunderstorms](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenthunderstorms/pseuds/goldenthunderstorms)




End file.
